Tears in the Rain
by PervyMonk
Summary: Deacon's been with the Railroad a while-no one is quite sure how long. His newest assignment is to escort a synth, M7-97, out of the Commonwealth. He ends up in the Capital Wasteland, and discovers he needs more help than he bargained for. Takes place in the same universe and timeline as Where the Sun is Always Shining


Chapter One: Escapee

 _Dec 31, 2277_

"So I just gotta sneak this synth out of hostile territory and into territory I know nothing about," Deacon muses. His newest charge, M7-97, looks out of place standing in the middle of the Switchboard. He's still in his institute get up, having just arrived. The Railroad found him by accident, wandering the ruins of old Boston, and had ushered him back to base. Deacon had been with them, running alongside them as they ran an op-Desdemona wanted him with the group to gather intel. They suspected that the Insitute was holed up somewhere around the old ruins since their scouring of old C.I.T had turned up nothing. The synth had been easy to spot. His wide doe eyes were big enough to make him a target, and he had a quiet way of speaking that spoke of subservience.

Deacon would have given him barely a day on his own. He got into _everything,_ asking questions about this or that. He reminded Deacon of a child.

"That's correct," Desdemona says. "You needn't worry, we have agents in the Capital Wastes."

"Greeeeeeat," Deacon says with a forced cheer. "Always love adding people I've never met into the equation."

"The location you will deliver M7-97 to is a place called Rivet City, at the bottom of the Capitol Wasteland," Desdemona continues, ignoring him as if he hadn't spoken. She's new to running the show, but Deacon can already spot where the wrinkles will form on her face from the strain. Leading the Railroad had a heavy workload and a low life expectancy, if the fate of the last three leaders was any indication.

"Watts' report states that more than a few people there are sympathetic to the plight of synths, and there are rumors of a wastelander taking out an Institute scientist and his courser guard."

"Really? No shit?" Deacon asks, his eyebrows shooting up into his wig. "Ow ow ow!" He lifts a hand to rub his temple. His face is still sore from his operation, and his usual witty facial expressions stretched the healing skin too tightly.

"Yes-reports out of D.C call her 'The Lone Wanderer'," Desdemona continues. "But that is neither here nor there. Your primary objective is to escort M7-97 to Rivet City. There's a scientist there who can implant new memories, and help him avoid detection."

"What about Amari? Have we not been able to convince her to join the cause?"

"No, not yet. She's uncomfortable with what she calls 'the cloak and dagger schtick'," she says with a pointed look at Deacon that he pretends not to notice. "But I am confident she'll come around. Until then, it's to Rivet City it is. He'll be safer once he's out of the Commonwealth."

"What happens to his old memories?" Deacon asks, watching M7-97 interact with Carrington's daughter, Ruby, with his head tilted to the side as he seems to try to analyze a toy car.

"They'll be erased, and he'll be able to live life as a free man," Desdemona says.

"Hell of a thing," Deacon says. "Though I suppose not everyone can make up a backstory for when it suits them." Desdemona purses her lips, and they form an angry thin line across her face. It's one of her tells, and Deacon knows why he's in charge of getting M7 to safety far from the Commonwealth. Good liars make people uncomfortable, although that month he spent as a ghoul probably hadn't endeared his fellow Railroad members to him. "All right, big guy," Deacon says. "Looks like you're running with me."

"Greetings," the synth says. "I am pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Deacon says.

"Where is it you are taking me?" M7 asks. Deacon looks the synth up and down. The institute jumper he is clad in makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

"Before we go anywhere, we gotta get you some wasteland camo." M7 looks down at the clothes he is wearing-pristine, almost as though they, and the person wearing them, walked right out of a different time.

"Yes," M7 says.

"You always so agreeable?" Deacon asks as he leads M7 through the switchboard. The headquarters is new, to all of them, and those old world spooks sure did love to keep people guessing.

"Yes," M7 answers. At Deacon's raised eyebrows, his face gets a pinched look and he scrunches his nose. "No, I'm not. I'm not really sure what I am."

"Well, plenty of time to find out," Deacon says, a stone settling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the procedure the synth will undergo in Rivet City. Deacon wonders if he chose it willingly or if it was chosen for him. It wouldn't be the first time a synth underwent a memory wipe, and most certainly wouldn't be the last, but it leaves a sour taste in his mouth all the same.

M7 nods again, looking over his shoulder into the barren and crumbling hallway behind them.

"I like children," he says softly, and it's only then that Deacon notices the toy car he clutches in his grip. "They're bright, as if the ugliness of this world hasn't gotten to them yet."

"Probably shouldn't phrase it quite like that," Deacon jokes lamely. That funny and quizzical look flits over M7's face again.

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Deacon says, stopping in front of an old door. Many of the offices of the Switchboard had been converted into rooms for the members of the Railroad. It felt nice to have private spaces to call one's own, though this one was usually reserved for those staying on a temporary status. Deacon turns the knob, shouldering the door open.

"Ta-da! Welcome to Casa de Railroad. The digs probably aren't as nice as what you're used to at the Institute, but it's a place to call your own."

"Where I slept also doubled as storage space," M7 says blankly and, man, but did they ever need to work on his tone. He spoke in the same monotonous as a history professor of the old world, or maybe even Old Man Stockholm when someone activated his grandpa mode.

"We'll start gathering supplies for our trip in the morning," Deacon says. "For now, you just rest."

"Is this Capitol Wasteland different from here?" M7 asks suddenly and he sounds like he doesn't want Deacon to go just yet. Though that's probably just Deacon projecting-no one really wanted him to stay for long.

"It's a bit rougher than here, radiation-wise, but it's not any worse people-wise," Deacon answers. "They don't have anyone who snatches people in their sleep, or at least they didn't the last time I was there."

"When was that?"

"When were you made?" The synth's brow furrows deeply at that, and Deacon realizes it's a dick question as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, which is the _last_ thing he intended.

"I'm not sure," he says quietly, and he tugs at the white sleeve of his uniform uncomfortably.

"Sorry, man-just trying to make a point that's it's been a few years. Didn't mean anything by it."

"It's alright," M7 says. "I'm sure you are as unused to my kind as I am to yours." He looks down at the toy car again, gently spinning one of the wheels with his forefinger. Deacon says a hurried goodnight and leaves him in the room, gently shutting the door behind him. Dez knew he didn't work well with partners, but insisted on giving him this op.

Hopefully, it didn't turn into a disaster. He'd seen enough of those to last a lifetime.


End file.
